


Disappearing Act

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Invisibility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Peter survived a near-miss, he had to figure out if his hazy memory of how Neal had saved the day was fact or [science] fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disappearing Act

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the "disappearing" square on my [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**hc_bingo**](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) card.

Peter thought he was imagining it at first. After all, he'd been bleeding out, a steady leak from his thigh that was inexorably carrying away his strength, his consciousness, and his life. And Neal Caffrey of all people had the ability to escape from a locked room without needing to disappear like an apparition fading back into the void. People couldn't just disappear, and the only thing that made sense was that Peter must have passed out while Neal effected his escape. He was certain his mind had fabricated Neal's disappearance to fill in the blank piece of time.

He was almost certain.

The official report was frustratingly short on specifics. Neal and Peter had been investigating a case of corporate insurance fraud, and the suspect--Carson Vandeventer, jumpy and drugged with power and fear and possibly cocaine--had shot Peter, a through and through that nicked his femoral artery. Two security goons had locked them up in some kind of panic room, refusing to listen to threats or to reason. They didn't want to hear that their boss was leading them down the path to imprisonment or worse, all over money and a gunshot that a good attorney could've pleaded down to almost nothing, an extra month or two in a minimum security prison. A gunshot that was perfectly survivable as long as Peter got medical attention sooner than later.

Unable to walk on his leg, Peter had sat on the floor, watching as Neal combed every inch of their prison for a way out. Reality began to gray out for Peter after a while, and the report simply stated that Neal escaped past the goons when they came in to check on their prisoners, that Neal had found a phone and called 911. Police and Bureau response had been very quick, just minutes for an officer-down call, and in no time at all the original suspect and his goons were all in custody and Peter was on his way to emergency surgery.

Afterwards, Peter had been exhausted and weak, then simply grateful to be alive. He was prepared to die in the line of duty, if necessary, but dying over insurance fraud, no matter the sum involved, would be a bad joke. He didn't like seeing the fear and worry in Elizabeth's eyes, and it made his stomach churn to think about not being there to promise her he'd be more careful next time.

Peter dreamed, sometimes, of being in that room, and every time he woke he was left with the impression that Neal had said something to him. Something that would change his world if only he could remember it. He would see one of the goons opening the door to toss them some bandages and water, and then Neal would just disappear. There and then gone as if Scotty had beamed him up.

As he recuperated in bed and then later on the couch, Peter passed the time wondering what Neal might have said to him, if in fact he said anything other than the expected reassurances that they'd be rescued, that Peter would be fine. If Neal's escape plan involved rushing the armed guard, he might have made some sort of deathbed confession: the location of some stash of money and valuables, a confession of some heretofore unsuspected crime, or maybe something more personal. Peter mulled over the possibility that Neal had confessed to some kind of secret longing for him or El, but he wrote that off as narcissistic.

Peter tried to let go of his dreams and the niggling questions about what exactly had happened, and it would have been easier if Neal weren't acting so squirrelly. According to El, he'd barely left the hospital while Peter was in surgery and while he was unconscious afterward. By the time Peter was awake and lucid enough to start asking questions, Neal was scarce. He'd visit, he'd smile and joke, and then he'd leave before Peter had time to bring the conversation around to serious matters.

Finally he was headed back to work, and his first goal was to get in to see the room in Vandeventer's offices where he and Neal had been kept. It wasn't precisely a crime scene any longer; ERT had long since finished processing evidence. However, the whole office had been shut down pending investigation, and manufacturing a reason to go take a look was relatively simple. Peter didn't want Neal to know he was going, so he put Neal to work in the records room and took Diana with him.

She kept close to Peter as they walked down the hall that Peter last remembered being dragged down by one of the goons. He didn't remember the rescue itself, but the report stated that Diana and Jones had been among the first agents on-scene, and it must have been a sight. All that blood.  
"What are we looking for here, Boss?"

"I don't know. I'm just trying to work something out in my head about what happened that day."

They both paused at the heavy door of the panic room. "You want me to stay out here?"

"Thanks, Diana. Go ahead and close the door behind me."

Diana looked uncertain, but she complied, and then Peter was closed into the room where he'd nearly died. It felt okay; he wouldn't want to make the place his rec room, but he wasn't panicking either. He examined the door, trying to figure out if Neal might have been able to simply pick the lock, contrary to the official report, but there was nothing to pick. The lock was entirely electronic, and there was no keypad or override switch in sight.

There was no furniture. No decoration. Nothing to use as a weapon. Nowhere to hide a keypad or a circuit box. Just smooth reinforced walls, a floor, a ceiling. Peter sat on the floor, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the scene from his dreams. With the echoing emptiness of the room around him and the hard, cold floor under him, the scene felt more real than it ever had before.

_Neal paced the room, back and forth between checking on Peter and searching futilely for a way out. He was bare to the waist; both his undershirt and his dress shirt were wrapped around Peter's leg as bandages, and his suit jacket was under Peter's knee to keep it raised. He banged on the door, shouting to the goons that Peter needed help if they didn't want to be charged with murder right along with their boss._

_He walked back over to crouch down next to Peter and spoke six words. "I hope you don't remember this." Neal approached the door again, and as the door began to open Neal...stopped existing. The guard opened the door, tossed some supplies inside, then slammed the door shut again without looking around hard enough to notice that the room contained only one person. Peter's mind was moving slowly, and he didn't understand where Neal had gone but he knew he needed the bandages and water. When he tried to move to retrieve them, pain shot through his leg, and everything went black._

Peter scrambled to his feet, wincing at the complaint from his still-healing leg. He might've been in shock the last time he was in that room, but his memory was clear--Neal had disappeared. It didn't make sense, but neither did anything else. Not even Neal could have slipped out that door without the guard seeing, and there was no other way out of the room. And he'd hoped that Peter wouldn't remember it, but unfortunately for Neal, Peter had an excellent memory.

He knocked on the door, and Diana pulled it open. "You okay, Boss?"

"I'm great. And I'm ready to get out of here."

She nodded, and as they walked out past a series of small offices Peter imagined Neal, shirtless and bloody, ducking into one of them to call for help. However Neal had managed it, Peter was grateful, but despite doubts about looking a gift horse in the mouth he had to know.

Next, he was determined to pin Neal down and have a real conversation. In the office, Neal would always be able to hare off after some distraction or other, but when saw that some junior agents were scheduled to spend an evening on a low-pressure stakeout--strictly surveillance, no chance of needing to confront the suspect--Peter took the opportunity schedule himself and Neal in their place. He didn't give Neal the chance to weasel out; he just told Neal that he was coming in late due to a doctor's appointment and that Neal might as well take the morning off, too.

It was late afternoon when he collected Neal from his desk, and when Neal saw the cooler bag full of snacks his eyes went wide and he started to shake his head. "No no no, Peter. Not a stakeout." He nodded at Peter's leg, the limp that hadn't quite gone away yet. "You're not cleared for that are you?"

"It's four hours sitting in a car running surveillance on a non-violent suspect. I'm cleared for that."

"Vandeventer was supposed to be non-violent, too."

Peter managed not to flinch, but Neal wasn't wrong. "We're staying in the car this time, don't worry. Now come on, we're due to relieve the other team in twenty."

Neal looked a little wild-eyed around the edges of his composure, like he wanted to argue further or just plain run, but he grabbed his hat and his bag and followed Peter to the elevator and the waiting car.

Once they were on stakeout, Peter bided his time. He let Neal's nervous energy grow and then settle before broaching the subject of Neal's escape.

"So, I went back to Vandeventer's office yesterday."

"What? Why?" Neal sounded startled, and wary.

"I had to see how it matched up to my memory, and I've got to say that was an impressive escape, Neal. Why didn't you want me to remember it?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I _remember_ , Neal. I didn't pass out until you left the room, and it might be a little foggy, but I remember everything up until then." Neal was silent, but Peter could feel him vibrating with energy six inches away. "So tell me, how long have you been able to pull that disappearing act?"

Neal sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face, and Peter wondered if he'd disappear right then to get out of the conversation. "Since I was fourteen. It runs in the family."

"Seriously? I thought you were going to laugh at me and tell me I'd been hallucinating."

"Clearly, you know you weren't." Then Neal closed his eyes and faded out until the passenger seat appeared empty. Peter reached his hand out, expecting empty space, and felt the wool of Neal's jacket. Neal phased back into sight and glared, "What are you poking me for?"

"I--I'm sorry, I guess I don't know what the etiquette is for _invisible people_ , Neal."

"I don't turn into a ghost, I can't go through walls or car doors. People just can't see me. I didn't ever want you to know, for obvious reasons, but I couldn't see any other way to get help to come in time."

"I appreciate that, believe me. And I'm not going to put this in your file, not that anybody would believe me if I did."

"Thanks," Neal said dryly. "So, I know you have questions. Hit me."

"Okay, I understand now how you were able to escape from prison; I've always wondered how you could really just walk past everybody without being noticed. But why didn't you leave before that? And why didn't you just disappear when I found you in that apartment?"

"Why didn't I leave before that? Because getting out was one thing, but I couldn't be certain of getting back inside before some guard noticed I was gone. I didn't want to be a fugitive again, no matter how difficult that may be to believe. I wanted to serve my time and then make a life with Kate."

Peter winced at the bitter edge to Neal's words. "I know you did. Is that why you let me re-capture you?"

"Not entirely. I was tired from having to stay out for so long during my escape and anyway, I don't know. The story goes that if you disappear too often, too close together, you won't be able to come back. I don't like the thought of disappearing for good."

Peter imagined being permanently hidden from the rest of the world, alive and dead at the same time. "It doesn't sound like a good thing, no." He reached over and patted Neal's arm. "Thanks for taking the chance for me."

"You were getting pretty close to disappearing yourself, and I couldn't let that happen."

"I'm not going anywhere."

They were both quiet for a while, just watching the dark windows of the suspect's apartment and letting the conversation settle.

"So, tell me," Peter asked as they drove off toward June's house at the end of their surveillance shift, "you were fourteen when you started being able to disappear? How many pranks did you pull before you decided it was too much of a risk?"

Neal laughed quietly, and when Peter glanced over he was grinning. "A lot," he said. "Approximately...a lot."

"That's the Neal we all know and love."

When Peter looked over again, Neal was still smiling.


End file.
